


Little Song

by Ad_Absurdum



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Italy, Little Song by Meo Fusciuni (perfume), Original work - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25038283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ad_Absurdum/pseuds/Ad_Absurdum
Summary: And we are a little song, far from my time and yours...





	Little Song

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** The summary is a quote from the notes attached to Little Song. The perfume notes include bergamot, pink pepper, Turkish rose, coffee extract and tobacco among others. (And this scent is actually one of my favourites).

The scent of coffee and roses drifted in the air like a long-forgotten melody, now fondly remembered. The bar was empty, save for a man who was wiping the tables so that their lacquered surfaces shone even in this muted light.

The front door opened and the man raised his head. "We're already closed. Please come tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? I think you mean today," there was humour in the newcomer's voice.

The man looked at his watch and sighed. It was already past two in the morning. "Well, then please come later today."

"But I was kind of hoping you wouldn't throw out a friend, Stefano. Even though it is late."

Stefano looked up from the bar counter he'd just polished.

"You?" Despite it being years and years, the memories were still there. "How...?" Stefano paused, not really knowing what to say. He finally settled on: "I haven't seen you since the war."

"Ah, so you do remember. I was afraid you've forgotten. You were just a child back then, after all."

Stefano shook his head. "I don't think I can ever forget. If it weren't for you... Well..."

The pain and the horrors of the war had lessened over the years - if they weren't completely forgotten, then they were at least muted and Stefano could reminisce about that time without being overwhelmed by emotions now. Besides, it wasn't like he was the only child whose parents were killed during the war. However odd it may sound, the luck was still on his side, even then.

"Taking care of you wasn't such a horrible task, to be honest." The other man smiled. "I only did what I thought was right. Anyway, let's not talk about this."

He glanced behind Stefano at the fully stocked bar.

"Would it be too much to ask for a drink?"

Stefano breathed out a laugh. "I don't think so. What would you like?"

"I have no idea. You are the barman."

"Well, in that case..."

Stefano reached under the counter for a bottle he kept for special occasions. It was still unopened.

"Cherry wine?"

Stefano nodded, watching as the man sipped the wine with obvious enjoyment.

"You haven't changed a bit," he finally voiced what had been on his mind since the man stepped into his bar. "How is that even possible? It's been over thirty years."

The man smiled a little sadly. "You will understand soon."

Strange answer, Stefano thought, but it didn't really bother him. He felt safe. It was the same feeling he had when he was a kid. This man didn't try to be someone who would replace his parents back then, but he became like a family to Stefano nevertheless.

"Ah," the man looked a little unsure, "I guess I'm keeping you from going home. Very inconsiderate of me. You're probably tired."

"I got used to late hours. But since you mention it, let me close the place for the night and we can talk on the way home."

"Home?"

"You will stay for a bit, right? We could catch up on the last thirty years."

"Well, if you're sure."

Stefano closed the bar and when they arrived at his place, he made them coffee and lit up a cigarette.

"You smoke now?" The man raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe I need to cling to something," Stefano quoted lyrics to an old song, laughing a little.

"Will you sing to me?" he added after a moment of silence. He bit his lip. "I wanted to ask you that still at the bar but... uhm..."

"What?"

Stefano shrugged. "I don't know. Somehow, you didn't belong on the stage there."

The man laughed and then sat on the bed beside Stefano. "You will fall asleep."

"I won't." He closed his eyes. "Please."

The man started singing.

  


The next day when Stefano didn't come to pay his rent (only slightly overdue), the landlord came to see him instead. He found Stefano on his bed, in his clothes, sleeping serenely, but after a moment it became clear Stefano would not be waking from that sleep ever again.

There was no sign of blood or struggle or even gloom that might usually hang over such discoveries - the room was peaceful, quiet and strangely bright. The scent of coffee and roses lingered in the air like a long-forgotten melody, now fondly remembered.


End file.
